Shadow of a Name
by harrys-girl-4-life
Summary: Draco hates nothing more than being a Malfoy, not even being a Death Eater. Harry, resigned to his 'saving people thing', sets out to help him. Will Draco let him? Or will he let the shadow of the Malfoy name destroy his life completely?
1. Nominis Umbra

**This new story is dedicated to Endearing, whom I love dearly, and who has given me many, many wonderful ideas over the past couple of months. Any text you recognize (and there is some in this chapter) is JK Rowling's, not mine. You will never see another disclaimer, as I think they are useless. I'm obviously not JK Rowling, but I don't want to hear plagarism either, so I'm giving you a disclaimer here. Don't get used to it.**

**Rant over! This will be a chapter story! Please, please review and let me know what you think, it means so much to me when you do!**

**I love you all,**

**harrys-girl-4-life**

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><p>Nominis Umbra.<p>

It was Latin for 'the shadow of a name'.

Draco knew what that was like, he knew it all too well.

The Malfoy name had quite a shadow that came along with it.

And he fucking hated it.

He spent all of his time with shadowy people, in shadowy places, doing shadowy things.

Even now, bending over the small white sink in the sixth-floor boy's lavatory, he was with a shadowy person.

Moaning Myrtle.

And she wasn't just shadowy, she _was _a shadow.

Literally.

But Myrtle was the last thing on his mind, what was on his mind was the task he'd been given to complete.

A task the Dark Lord himself had given him.

Draco glared fiercely at the Dark Mark on his left forearm, gripping the sink tighter and wishing to all hell that the mark wasn't there.

He knew...he and the Dark Lord both knew that Draco couldn't complete his task.

He would fail, and he would be killed.

Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes and he swallowed hard.

It wasn't death that he dreaded, it was what would come first.

Torture.

He knew he would be tortured first, tortured until death would be a relief.

Though, death would be a relief anyway.

Hadn't he been tortured enough in his life?

Having Lucius Malfoy for a father was definitely torture enough.

Being a Malfoy at all was torture enough.

"You are a Malfoy," his father would say. "You must always remember that, and you must always act a certain way."

He'd heard it since birth.

When he was five, his father had thrown his favorite teddy bear into the parlor fireplace, announcing that Malfoys did not play with such pansy, girly things.

Draco had burst into tears.

Lucius had slapped him across the face.

"Malfoys do not cry!" He had bellowed, then sent the boy up to his room.

When he was seven, his mother had arranged for another small boy his age to come over and play with him.

All had been going well, until Lucius had come home and Draco tried to introduce his new friend.

Lucius promptly sent the other boy home through the Floo, then grabbed a large, hardcover book off a nearby table.

"Malfoys," he growled, striking Draco hard across the back with the book, "do not have friends! Malfoys have followers!"

He had continued to hit Draco with the book until the back of his shirt ripped nearly completely open, his back and shoulders torn and bleeding.

Draco hadn't dared to make a sound in pain, nor shed a tear.

Even at such a young age, he had known that would only make things worse.

It had been quite literally beaten into him.

He had so many scars all over his body that it would take weeks to count them all.

All of his beatings had been accompanied by one of his father's 'lessons' on the Malfoy dos and don'ts

"Malfoys do not love!" He'd been told while his father whipped rough branches across his bare back and legs.

"Malfoys never worry about anyone other than themselves!" This had been accompanied by a heavy candlestick, striking his torso and even his face. He'd had several cracked ribs after that one, plus a long scar that started above his eyebrow and continued across his temple.

"Malfoys always stand up straight!" Had been shouted at him as his father's cane came down across his back.

"Malfoys never get less than perfect grades in anything!" His father had fumed when Draco got an 'A' in Defense Against the Dark Arts. There were dozens of little round burn scars up both of his arms that would look like cigarette burns to any Muggle, but any wizard would know that they were actually from the burning hot tip of Lucius' wand.

"Malfoys never, ever, _ever _associate with anyone who is less than a pureblood! They are filth, and you will become such by associating with them!" Draco had been told as his father kicked and punched him to his heart's content.

"You _will _become a Death Eater whether you like it or not."

That one had been growled sadistically, time and time again, as Lucius dug a sharp blade into Draco's pale skin, leaving even more scars all over his young body.

If that had been Lucius' way of teaching his son the Malfoy way, Draco didn't want to _begin_to imagine what the torture from both him and the Dark Lord would be like once he failed to complete his task...and he would definitely fail.

"Please don't cry," Myrtle tried to soothe him, but he ignored her.

Tears streamed freely down the young man's face as he dreaded his fate.

Death truly would be preferable, at this point, but Draco couldn't bring himself to take his own life, either.

He was destined to fail, be tortured, and then murdered in the most terrible way possible, he was sure of it.

He wished he could convince himself to kill himself.

It wasn't as if he had anything to live for.

Hatred was all he knew.

His father hated him, the wizarding world hated him, most of the teachers hated him...even his mother hated him.

Well, his mother didn't really hate him, but she never did anything to help him, all the times his father had abused him, and that made Narcissa just as guilty as Lucius, in Draco's eyes.

"Oh, don't," Myrtle cooed. "Please don't...tell me what's wrong...I can help you..."

"No one can help me," he choked, his voice sounding dull and lifeless. "I can't do it...I just can't bring myself to do it...and if I don't do it soon...he says he'll kill me...please, just go...I want to be alone..."

He stared at himself in the mirror, crying harder as he wondered what he could have possibly done to deserve such treatment.

He'd never done anything to deserve this.

Nothing.

But he'd been born a Malfoy, and that was apparently what mattered.

He had been born a fucking Malfoy, and that somehow made it okay for everyone, including...no..._especially _his father, to treat him like a pile of rotting shit.

He hated his father, he hated his life, and he hated the Dark Lord.

But more than anything, he hated being a Malfoy.

He hated the shadow of his name.


	2. Some Common Ground

**Hi, all! So very sorry about this chapter, I promised it out AGES ago, but then my computer stopped working. I can't apologize enough.**

**Thankfully, the wonderful Day Met the Night has agreed to post things into my account for me, so now I have a way of updating again! Be sure to go check out her stories, as well, she's a brilliant author!**

**LOVE ALWAYS,**

**harrys-girl-4-life**

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><p>Harry stood, frozen with shock, in the doorway of the sixth floor boys' lavatory. He heard Myrtle make her exit into one of the toilets with a splash, but the sound barely registered. He was too busy staring at Malfoy's back, watching his shoulders shake as he cried - actually cried.<p>

With a gasp and a shudder, Malfoy looked up into the filthy mirror and saw Harry staring back at him. The blonde clearly panicked at the sight of him and whipped around, drawing his wand in the process. Harry also pulled out his wand, ready to fight, should Malfoy decide to send a hex his way.

"What the hell are you doing here, Potter?" Malfoy demanded, trying to sound tough, but failing when his voice quavered.

"I..." Harry paused, looking for an excuse. He couldn't very well tell Malfoy about the Marauder's Map, now could he? "I was walking by on my way to dinner and I heard voices in here, so I decided to come check it out."

Well, it was almost the truth.

"Oh really," Malfoy said, trying to sneer at him. "Thought maybe you'd play the hero, just like always, and come save the day?"

"No, not really."

"Then why the hell are you here? Did someone tell you I was in here? Did you come to attack me, Potter?" Malfoy was growing increasingly loud and frantic; the hand that was pointing his wand at Harry was shaking uncontrollably.

"No, Malfoy! Of course I didn't come to attack you, why would you think that?" Harry was genuinely perplexed; he and Malfoy may not get along, but Harry was every bit the noble Gryffindor and would never dream of attacking someone, even Malfoy, just for the hell of it. The fact that Malfoy apparently thought he was capable of doing such a thing was rather off-putting.

"Oh, I dunno, maybe because you hate me, just like everyone else in the fucking world does! If you're going to attack me, get the hell on with it!"

"Maybe everyone wouldn't hate you if you would stop being such a bloody arse all the time!" Harry shouted back, realizing that Malfoy's hand wasn't the only thing shaking, the boy was literally trembling from head to toe.

"Maybe I have to be an arse just to stay alive! Maybe its the only way for me to protect myself just a little bit! Have you ever thought about that, Potter?" Malfoy shouted, his eyes wild and panicked. "Have you ever stopped to think that maybe other people have problems that can't be fixed by your bloody Gryffindor hero complex? Have you ever thought that maybe some people are chronically terrified and miserable, never knowing from day to day if they're going to live or die or be tortured until they want to die?"

Harry faltered, not expecting such an emotional outburst from the Slytherin. Could it be possible that Malfoy wasn't actually a terrible person? Was it possible that he was just a scared, overwrought, helpless product of his environment?

Harry blinked, thoroughly confused by his thoughts. Malfoy took Harry's silence as an answer and carried on with his tirade.

"No, Potter, of course you haven't! Because you're just bloody fine, running around with your best friends, getting into trouble every now and again, going home to whatever positively fucking perfect place you live in over the summer! You're the damned Golden Boy with the golden life, you don't know what it's like for people like me!" Malfoy all but screamed that last bit, tears streaming down his pale cheeks once again.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're on about, Malfoy? The Golden Boy with the golden life? Do you have any idea what my life is like outside of Hogwarts? Of course you don't! Don't talk about me like you know me because you don't! My life is so fucked up that it's absurd! I've nearly died more times than I can count, I just watched the closest thing I've ever had to a father nearly die right in front of my eyes, and over the summers I live with the most horrible Muggles imaginable because, in case you've forgotten, my parents are dead!" Harry shouted at him, his own hands beginning to shake and his face beginning to burn with the force of his anger.

"I wish my parents were dead!" Malfoy screamed, shocking the anger right out of Harry. "Get out, you bastard! Get the fuck out!"

Harry flinched when Malfoy raised his arm, fully expecting the Slytherin to jinx him. He was surprised when Malfoy instead hurled his wand at him as hard as he could. All it did was bounce lightly off of Harry's broad chest, but he hardly noticed. He was too busy watching Malfoy, who had stalked back over toward the sinks and was punching the side of the nearest stall as hard as he could.

After a few moments, however, Malfoy's fury was spent and with an anguished cry, he sank to the ground. Harry watched in horror as the blonde pulled his knees up to his chest, buried his face in his arms, and began to sob uncontrollably.

The Golden Boy stood rooted to the spot for a moment, unsure of what to do. Malfoy had told him to leave, and part of his brain told him that he really should listen to the blonde and just leave, but the other part of his brain, the louder part, told him to be a heroic bloody Gryffindor, march over to Malfoy, and try to help him as best as he could.

As stupid as it seemed, Harry was a Gryffindor for a reason. He couldn't bear to leave anyone, not even Malfoy, in a state like this. So, he ignored the logical side of his brain that told him to flee, and instead dropped his own wand on the ground before walking over to where Malfoy was curled up on the floor. Anguished, gut wrenching sobs wracked Malfoy's body, somehow making Harry's tender heart ache for him.

"Hey," he said softly, crouching down and gently laying his hand on Malfoy's arm. "Listen, it's okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

Harry had expected his hand to be pushed away, his words immediately ridiculed, but nothing happened. Well, nothing except for Malfoy sobbing even harder than before.

"Malfoy, listen to me. Calm down, everything's going to be okay," Harry said, knowing that he was probably doing a terrible job of calming the boy down, but still willing to try anything.

"I...told you...to go...away," Draco gasped between sobs, his voice muffled by his arms.

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry said firmly. He couldn't believe what he was doing right now, trying to comfort and help his sworn enemy, but he just couldn't bear to see anyone like this. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm not leaving you alone in here."

"Why...the hell...should you...care? I've...always...been...alone," Draco sobbed.

"Not now, Malfoy. You're not alone, I'm right here," Harry said, keeping his tone soft and even as he sat down next to the Slytherin and began rubbing his back soothingly with one hand. At least, he hoped it was soothing. Knowing him, it was probably just awkward, but again, he was willing to try anything.

"I'm always alone," Draco replied, his voice cracking, but his sobs lessening a bit.

"Not now, you're not. I'm right here with you. I...I'm not going to let anything happen to you, you understand me? I dunno what the hell you're so afraid of, but you're safe with me. I'll help you."

"Why?" Malfoy practically squeaked, lifting his tear-stained face up to look at Harry in confusion.

"Why what?"

"Why would you help me? I've been so horrid to you for years!"

"If I don't help you, who will?"

A choked sob was Malfoy's only reply, tears still pouring down his face.

"No one," he finally whispered.

"I will," Harry replied firmly, unable to comprehend why he was doing what he was doing. "I'll help you. Just...you have to tell me what's wrong, Malfoy. What are you so afraid of?"

"Him," Malfoy answered after a moment or so.

"Him who?"

"Him."

"Voldemort?"

Malfoy flinched.

"Yeah, mostly."

"Mostly? Who else?"

"My father," the Slytherin boy replied hesitantly, wiping his nose rather noisily on his sleeve.

"Why?" Harry asked, pulling his hand away from Malfoy's back and turning to face him.

"Why what?" It was Malfoy's turn to ask.

"Why are you afraid of them? Voldemort I get, but your father?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," Malfoy mumbled.

"I can't help you if I don't know what I'm helping you with," Harry said with a sigh.

"I don't even know why you'd want to help me," Draco said, avoiding Harry's gaze.

"You said it yourself. If I don't help you, nobody will. Just tell me what's going on and let me help you."

"The Dark Lord gave me a job to do," Malfoy said after a few moments.

"What kind of a job?" Harry asked, his worst fears being confirmed.

"A task that I can't complete. That I won't complete."

"What kind of task?"

"He..." Malfoy trailed off, then sucked in a deep breath. "He wants me to kill Dumbledore."

Harry's jaw dropped, that was not at all what he had expected. He had expected something petty, like bullying a Muggle-born, certainly not something as drastic as killing Dubledore!

"He...he wants you to what?"

"Kill Dumbledore," Malfoy said miserably.

"You...you can't!" Harry exclaimed.

"Of course I can't, you prat! More importantly, I won't!"

"But if you don't..."

"He'll kill me. Actually, he'll torture me until I'm begging for death, and then he'll kill me in the most painful way imaginable. That's how he works."

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered, shaking his head. "Does anyone else know?"

"Just Snape," Malfoy replied. "He's trying to help me, but it's so dangerous for him..."

"Everything is dangerous for everyone, these days."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"But...won't you parents help you? I mean, your father..."

Malfoy cut him off immediately.

"My father," he spat, "would never lift a finger to help anyone other than himself."

"But you're his son!" Harry was so confused. Weren't parents supposed to love their kids? Even Death Eaters, surely they would care about their own flesh and blood...right?

"You think that matters? Do you know what being his son has gotten me?"

"I...no," Harry said. "How could I? What has it gotten you, Malfoy?"

"You really don't want to know."

"Yes, I do. What did he do to you?"

The blonde didn't answer, he just ran a hand through his already messy hair, avoiding Harry's gaze.

"Tell me, what did he do to you?" Harry asked again, determined to find out the truth. "You can trust me."

As soon as Harry said the word 'trust', Malfoy's head whipped around and he stared at Harry as if searching for any sign that he was lying. Apparently he found none, because he nodded slowly.

"Fine, then," he said softly, hauling himself to his feet and standing. Harry was just about to ask what he was doing when the blonde's fingers made their way to the buttons on his shirt and began undoing each and every one of them with trembling fingers. When they were all unbuttoned, he closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering his courage, took a deep death, then pulled his shirt off and let it fall to the floor.

Harry gasped, his eyes as wide as dinner plates as he raked his eyes over Malfoy's arms and torso.

"This is what he did to you?" He asked quietly, staring at all of the scars, bruises, and cuts on the Slytherin's body in horror.

Malfoy nodded, clearly not trusting himself to speak.

"But...some of these are still purple! And there's still dried blood around some of these cuts!"

"We just had a Hogsmeade weekend," Malfoy said, his voice cracking halfway through his sentence. "He came to visit me. Decided I wasn't getting my job done fast enough, so he beat the shit out of me."

"Bloody hell, Malfoy," Harry said, shaking his head. "What a fucking asshole."

"That's my father, for you."

"So I see," Harry said, hesitating before letting his curiosity get the best of him. "Did he make you take the..."

"The mark?" Malfoy asked harshly. "Of course he made me take the bloody mark, but not after trying to slice me into a thousand pieces first!"

He thrust his left arm out and showed Harry where the Dark Mark had been branded on his pale skin, the area around it littered with a collection of scars that obviously came from a knife.

"I am so sorry, Malfoy. I really am. Innocent kids don't deserve to be treated like that, believe me, I know."

"Oh, you know, do you?" Malfoy spat, crossing his arms over his chest. "You understand how it must feel, you imagine it must be terrible, and you want to just pour buckets of pity on me? Well guess what, you can keep your goddamn pity!"

"Oh, come off it!" Harry exclaimed, rising from his place on the floor.

"No, you come off it! You think you can just run in here and play the hero. You think you can just throw your name around and somehow help an 'innocent kid'? You don't know what its like to be me, you don't know what its like to be treated like this!"

Harry didn't reply for a moment, then decided that he really needed to show Draco that he could trust him, that he really meant it when he said he'd help him.

"I don't?" Harry asked quietly, not expecting an answer. He quickly popped open all the buttons on his shirt and pulled it off, letting it fall to the ground as well. "I think I'd know better than you think."

Draco gasped, staring openly at him and studying his body like Harry had just studied his own.

"I've been abused, too, Malfoy. My aunt, uncle, and cousin...they all hate me. My entire life with them is lived in constant fear of punishment. My cousin used me as his personal punching bag; I can't even tell you the number of broken ribs I've had. My aunt would always scream at me and throw thing like books and candle sticks at me if I didn't do something to her liking. And my uncle...he's beaten me with sticks, umbrellas, golf clubs...sometimes his fists, and once he even sliced up my back pretty well with a kitchen knife," Harry said, his tone low and even as he turned around for a moment to show Malfoy the scars littered across his back. "You think I don't understand, but I do. I've spent my entire life being beaten to a bloody pulp by people who are supposedly family, people who are supposed to care about me. I lived in a cupboard under the fucking stairs for the first eleven years of my life. In fact, I would consider myself lucky any time they would just lock me in my cupboard without food, instead of beating me yet again."

Harry said that last bit rather thickly, not looking at Malfoy as he blinked back unwanted tears.

"I...I'm sorry," Malfoy said softly, looking like the figurative deer in the headlights.

"This scar right here, that's not from my supposed family. That's from when Voldemort came back," Harry said, ignoring the blonde's flinch and indicating the long scar on his right forearm. "He marked you with the Dark Mark, he marked me with the scar on my forehead and this scar on my arm. Wormtail took my blood and used it to get Voldemort's body back."

"So it really was all true," Draco muttered.

"Every word of it," Harry said, nodding and holding out his left fist. "You see this? This is from Umbridge, all of her detentions last year."

"I must not tell lies," Draco read quietly.

"That sadistic bitch made me write that with a blood-quill until it was carved into my hand, all the while knowing that every word I was saying was true."

"Merlin's beard," Malfoy said, shaking his head. "I...I had no idea."

"You know, we've been fighting all these years, claiming that we're total opposites, not in any way comparable, but…I guess we're not really that different, after all."

Their eyes met for a moment as they both saw the other in an entirely new light. Animosity suddenly disappeared as they saw each other simply as humans, not as competitors or enemies.

"I guess not," Malfoy admitted, bending over to pick up both his shirt and Harry's.

"I really will help you in any way I can. And you really can trust me," Harry said, every ounce of his being projecting his sincerity.

"I know. Bloody noble Gryffindor," the blonde said without venom. "Listen, I know I've been really terrible to you and your friends for the last six years, and...well...I'm sorry."

"We weren't any nicer in return, I think we're all at fault here," Harry said reasonably.

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry anyway," Malfoy said, handing Harry his shirt as though it were a peace offering.

"Thanks. I'm sorry too."

Both boys were relatively silent as they pulled their shirts back on and buttoned them up.

"Well, I reckon we'd better be getting to dinner before all the food's gone," Harry said after a few moments.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Malfoy replied.

"Listen, I know this didn't work out too well the first time, but I'd like to try it again. Friends?" Harry asked, sticking out his hand. "Or, at least, allies for now, maybe friends later?"

Malfoy stared at his hand for a moment, then grasped it firmly.

"Yeah, sounds good, Potter," he said, shaking the dark-haired boy's hand before shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Harry."

"What?"

"Call me Harry. I think that after all we've learned about each other tonight, we can manage to call each other by our first names.

"Fine. Draco, then," the blonde replied, nodding his agreement.

"Right. To dinner, I suppose."

"Yeah."

There was a pause as both boys stood there, unsure of their next move.

"I guess I'll go eat then, goodnight...Harry."

"Goodnight, Draco."

And then, the blonde was gone.


End file.
